Read Online Ikon by Graham Masterton - Free Book Online

All that rhetoric about ‘containing Communism’? Well, what happened to that when he promised the Soviets that America would keep hunter-killer satellites out of space? What happened to that when he pardoned that Soviet spy, what was his name, Nevsky? The light of liberty? You’d better believe it. Let me tell you, Ken -Marshall used to be the backbone of American political conservatism. Now he’s the goddamned jellyfish.’
    ‘I agree with you, Titus, you know that,’ said Senator Rodney. The only problem is, he’s strong. Marshall’s very, very strong. Not just strong but paranoid. He’s got a water-tight security set-up, and the best intelligence network since Eisenhower. It’s going to be hard to get to him, I warn you, and even when you do, you won’t be safe.’
    ‘Safety,’ Titus retorted, ‘is not my primary consideration. I was at Changjin Reservoir, remember? I was at Khe Sanh. I didn’t care about my safety then, and I don’t care
    about it now. All I care about is putting a stop to these goddamned disastrous RING agreements.’
    ‘Well, I hope you won’t be sorry,said Senator Rodney. ‘Keep me in touch, will you? When are you going back to Washington?’
    ‘I’m going to drive back now. I have a few traps to set.’
    ‘How was the fishing?’
    ‘Good enough. A fair catch of trout. Not what it used to be, though. Maybe I’ve lost my touch.’
    There are bigger fish in Washington, Titus. Whales, and swordfish, and sharks, too. Plenty of sharks.’
    Titus grunted in amusement, and then put the phone down. Joe Jasper said, ‘You don’t have to go back straight away, Mr Secretary. The girl won’t be arriving in Washington until the day after tomorrow. You could have yourself one more day’s fishing, if you wanted to.’
    Titus finished his drink, and held out his glass for another one. ‘Joe,’ he said, ‘fishing requires calm, and concentration. Right now, I’m not in the mood for it. I smell blood, thanks to you, Joe. I smell blood!’
    ‘You’re flattering me, Mr Secretary.’
    Titus stared at him. Joe Jasper was such a weasel, such a sharp, nibbling, chiselling kind of a creature, that Titus found him compelling company. Joe would accept any insult, and perform any task, no matter how menial or degrading. He had first come to Washington with Nixon’s West Coast cosa nostra, John Ehrlichman and Hank Halde-man and John Dean; but he had survived Watergate by attaching himself (‘like a leech,’ Titus often thought) to the caretaker administration which followed. Joe Jasper, despite his pale, unappealing face, despite his fastidious clothing, his Bijan shoes and his ostentatious gold rings, could worm his way in anywhere in Washington and get the goods on anyone. Anna Wuschinski, of the Washington Post, always called him Smeagol, after the snivelling, whining Gollum in Lord of the Rings. She was more accurate than she knew: Joe Jasper had a bite just as sharp as Smeagol, and just as much bony strength.
    ‘Pay the check,’ said Titus. ‘I want to leave for Washington right away.’
    ‘What about your luggage?’
    ‘Send Wilkins down to collect it in the morning.’
    Joe closed the communications briefcase, and gathered up the papers and notebooks which Titus had left around his suite. A thorough search would be made of the entire room tomorrow, to make sure that not even the slightest scrap of classified documentation had been left behind. Other, personal objects would be removed, too. It wouldn’t do for the left-wing media to discover that the Secretary of State regularly ate Ex-Lax chocolate, nor that he used Chestnut-7 hair colorant.
    Titus showered, and dressed in a grey slubbed mohair business suit, with a 2nd Infantry Division necktie, and a pocket handkerchief of exact isoceles sharpness. Meanwhile, Joe told the Secret Service man outside to arrange for Titus’ official black Cadillac to be driven around to the front of the hotel, ready for the drive back to the